The Eve of Saint Francis

This evening, we included a liturgy for the blessing of the animals during our regular Wednesday Evening Eucharist. During the sermon, I shared an essay written as part of the This I Believe series on NPR. Here it is:

Teaching a Bad Dog New Tricks
by David Buetow

Weekend Edition Sunday, September 16, 2007 ·
I believe in my dog. I believe in the way he lives his life, and I try to emulate him. I strive to gain his level of happiness in the simplest of things. Like the way he approaches each meal with endless appreciation and even joy. While I struggle to decide what to eat from full cupboards and lament what I don't have, he circles the floor, excitedly anticipating the very same meal, in the very same portion, at the very same time every day.

I believe in how he lives in the present. As my day fills with stress, crowded commutes and endless deadlines, I think of Duncan home alone. His day was probably boring, but he's ready to move right past it once we're together.

I believe in his egalitarian treatment of everyone despite race, creed or appearance. He never pre-judges. Before I had him, I considered myself "street smart," avoiding eye contact with people I didn't know or didn't think I wanted to know. Running through Chicago neighborhoods with Duncan has changed all that. Now when people smile at us, I smile back, and if Duncan stops to say hello I stop and greet them, too.

I never had a dog before; I got Duncan at the urging of a friend who had probably grown as tired of my bachelor behavior as I had. My long work nights and weekends always ended with a lonely run, a bourbon or two, or a phone call to someone I didn't really listen to. All I talked about was me and what was wrong with my life. My friends stopped asking me out because I was always either at work or talking about work.

I had dates with women who would mistakenly think I was loyal to them but I never returned their calls or thanked them for the cookies they left on my doorstep. I was what some people would call "a dog" — a bad dog. Not one person depended on me, nor I upon them. One Sunday I woke up at noon, and I suddenly noticed how silent my house and my life was. I realized I couldn't expect any valued relationship until I created one first. So I got Duncan.

All of a sudden, where no one depended on me, he did. It was extreme detox from selfishness: Let me out. Feed me. Clean up after me. Watch me sleep. I found that I actually liked being relied upon. When I realized that I could meet his needs, I also realized he met mine.

I believe in the nobility of Duncan's loyalty, and his enthusiasm. Every time I come in the door, he's waiting to greet me with glee. Now, when my girlfriend comes over, I get up and run to the door to greet her like I learned to do from my dog.

This essay seemed parituclarly appropriate this evening because the lessons that Duncan taught David where the same lessons that Saint Francis tried to teach his community. Francis was born to a priveledged life, yet he gave it all up to live more fully into God's Kingdom. He moved beyond living a life focused only on himself and strived to focus on God. Animals and all of Creation bore witness to Francis of the joy and beauty of all that God had made.

An alternate reading for Saint Francis day comes from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew's Gospel in the sixth chapter (NRSV).

Jesus Said “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? And why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith? Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Thank God for our pets! They bear witness against a life of anxiety: worrying about what to wear, eat or drink; or the trouble that lie around the corner. Rather they live in the moment and they freely share their love with us--even when we may fall short. In the same way, Francis rejected the life of anxiety and strived to live into the Kingdom of God: basking in the unconditional love of God, prasing God for Grace and Glory and endeavoring to reflect the love of God into the lives of others.

As we give thanks to God for all our blessings and especially for the gift of all our pets, may we follow Francis' example. May we also rededicate ourselves to living more into God's Kingdom and rejecting selfish anxiety. We can begin by striving to live within the prayer attributed to this great Saint:


Lord, make us instruments of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon;
where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

peace!